I love Halloween (as I’ve said before). Our theatrical family used to go all out in Whitfield Estates: We’d decorate the yard with homemade creatures, starring a headless horseman Dad assembled by clamping a wood-and-pipe frame onto a sawhorse. We’d stuff pants and a sweatshirt to create the body; the “horse” had one of the mean-looking dog heads from an old three-headed Cerberus costume that came from…I don’t even know where. The horseman’s lead-pipe arm was cocked back, with a platform at the end that held a jack-o-lantern, so it looked like he was charging out of the house ready to chuck the pumpkin at you.

In my adult life, I’ve yearned to recapture some of that all-out Halloween glory. I always want excuses to wear costumes; to shop for fake blood and body parts; to decorate the house with spider webs and scary creatures.

But every year since college I’ve been disappointed. Why decorate the house for the four or five trick-or-treaters who brave our shady street? Why dress up with nowhere to go? It’s depressing being the only Banana at the bar.

What I needed was an all-out, balls-to-the-wall Halloween party—full-on decorations, guests in costume, the whole shebang—but my social circle never had that going on. This year, finally, CCB and I are going to make it happen our own damn selves.

Shh...some of our decorating has to be kept secret.

Sounds like everyone’s on board, too. I’ve gained confidence in our party-throwing capabilities over the last few years, but I still worry about turnout. No matter how excited we are, it’s so hard to generate enthusiasm. But in the past few weeks, when we remind our friends about the Halloween party, instead of the usual, “Oh, ok, yeah, probably, we’ll see,” the responses have been, “I know; I need to think of a costume!” Good sign, I think.

Big J’s been literally sweating over coming up with the perfect get-up, but Saturday night he may have figured it out: Santa Claus. Hell yeah. Krazy Kevin can’t stop talking about spandex and wigs for his hair rocker costume. We keep telling Scoops to be an ice cream man, but who knows what that crazy Canadian’s going to do. We’re even dressing up Bruce the Kegerator (as a robot or a ninja; haven’t decided yet). Of course, I will be Hannah Banana for Halloween until the end of time, because it is just that perfect. And CCB? Well, let’s just say he’s not going to be allowed out in his costume until we’re sure all the little trick-or-treaters are gone for the night.

And the decorating…oh the decorating! So much fun, you guys. I’ve spent every lunch break in October going from store to store, giddily filling my basket with more and more gory crap. Walgreen’s is seriously going to put out an APB on the creepy lady who keeps showing up to shop the Halloween aisle—contemplating exactly what kind of fake blood is needed for the windows; weighing this skull over that one like they’re cantaloupes or something.

I don’t want to give away too much, but I think we’ve got a very Halloweeny atmosphere in the making. There are torches and ghosts and a few severed limbs, some creepy creatures and 1,200 square feet of spider web, plus a little bit of Dexter thrown in for good measure. You’ll get pictures and video next week, I promise.

Ok, maybe just a hint of what we've got in store.

We’ve even got a good pre-party to get warmed up: Mrs. Harrible and Baller Ben from kickball have been spearheading the Asolo Rep Balcony Club, a group for arts-supporting young professionals. They’re having a party on Thursday following the conservatory’s performance of The Mystery Plays. ($10 for the party, or $20 for party and performance. RSVP: Laura Wood, 351-9010 ext. 4712 or

Laura_wood@asolo.org.) Should be good times. Wear your undead garb, come see the show and then hang out with us youngsters on the lobby mezzanine. Just don’t sit behind the banana.